The Scourge of Muirwood (35 page)

Someone thrust a bag of jangling coins into Tethys’ hand. He looked at the king in confusion, at the distaste and distrust on his face. There was a subtle nod and then Tethys slumped to the ground without a sound.

Each breath was a torture. The Prince’s mouth would not work. He tried to turn his neck, but the pain in his muscles prevented anything but blinking. Someone scooped up the bag from Tethys’ dead hand.

The king turned back to Prince Alluwyn. He had a similar expression on his face – a look of utter contempt. “Die, maston,” the king said with a look of satisfaction. He nodded to a knight with a huge battle axe gripped in his hands.

The Prince stared at the king, heard the mash of the earth as the boots approached him. He did not have much air for words. Already part of him was slipping away from his body. He felt the pull of the Apse Veil drawing him. He spoke in a clear voice, in the king’s own language. “Fitting that an arrow…brought me down. You will die the same way. A Pry-rian arrow…in your back.”

He remembered an oak tree struck by lightning on a hillside near a village called Winterrowd. He died just before the axe came down and severed his head from his body.

A sickening lurch plunged into Lia’s stomach as the Apse Veil drew her inside, hurtling her to Muirwood in an instant. She stumbled from the Apse Veil on the other side, falling to the ground with a rough jolt. Tremors shook her and, clenching her fists, she squeezed her eyes shut to stop the sensation of spinning long enough to brace herself. She opened her eyes again as she realized by the heat, haze, and smell that the Abbey was burning.

No!

Lia struggled to her feet, but clues were unmistakable. The dread and warning that had oppressed her in Dahomey was revealed fully – the Leerings throughout the Abbey were all burning, consuming the stone with raging fire. She marched past the Rood Screen, the intricate woodwork separating the inner sanctum from the large interior corridors. As she passed through the portal, she saw in horror that the vaulted ceiling was thick with swirling smoke and green tongues of fire. The stones were blackening quickly, charred and pocked by the intense heat coursing through the rock like blood. Smoke masked everything, and it took several halting steps before she saw the bodies.

Her heart panged with terror.

“Lia!”

As she approached, she saw a circle of individuals, kneeling and clasping each others hands, binding themselves together in a ring as they awaited their fate – death by fire or when the walls came down and crushed them.

“It
is
Lia!”

She came from the smoke fog and beheld faces that she had longed to see. Faces she had treasured and loved. Faces she would never forget. There was Sowe and Edmon, hand in hand, fingers tight and clenching, knuckles white. Marciana and Kieran Ven clutching each other as well as Pasqua and Prestwich. She knew the faces – Brynn, Siler, the children, all clustered together, holding each other’s hands – waiting for their fate. She recognized others, but her heart was too full and tears stung her eyes along with the acrid smoke. She did not see the Aldermaston among them.

“Where is the Aldermaston?” she begged as she approached, embracing Sowe after she surged to her feet and hugged her so tight it made both sob.

Sowe’s eyes were wet. “They bound him in ropes. They said…they said they would take him to the Tor to watch Muirwood burn. The Queen Dowager will kill him there.”

Lia nodded, her heart aching with pain. She was ferociously angry and knew she had to move quickly.

“Lia!” Marciana said, grasping her in another tight hug. Her face was joyous but alarmed. “Where is he? Where is Colvin?”

A chunk of burning stone whistled and crashed against the tiles, exploding with a shower of sparks and hissing flame. Everyone flinched.

“Everyone, come with me!” Lia shouted. “Bring nothing with you.”

“They have barricaded all the doors, child,” Prestwich said. “There is no way out.”

“There is,” Lia said. “Everyone, follow me!”

Another hissing rock landed nearby, another shower of sparks. Lia realized the flames would consume the Abbey in moments. Drawing deep within herself, she willed the fires to stop.

I am the Aldermaston of Muirwood Abbey, obey me!
she ordered, shoving the thoughts with all her might. The flames resisted her authority, roaring in defiance as they licked up the stones and consumed them. She shoved the thought again, commanding the fires to be tamed. Again, they resisted. She pressed harder with her mind as she ran to the corridor heading down to the lower chamber where she had received the first maston rites. She waved at the others to follow her. Down the steps they herded.

Obey me!

The fires began to give way, not losing their strength but she felt the Abbey resisting the spread of the flames, holding it back from consuming everything.

“Scream,” she said. “Make them believe you are dying. Make them believe we perish in the flames.”

It did not take persuasion. Everyone was terrified already. A piercing chorus of fright rose from the throat of the Abbey. In her mind she had seen the future when she had taken the hetaera test. She had seen Muirwood burning and heard the screams.

“Scream!” she said, adding hers to the noise. Down the stairwell she marched until it opened to the long room full of polished wooden benches. At the head of the room was the main altar. She remembered going there with the Cruciger orb, seeking Colvin at the Pilgrim Inn. The thought of Colvin succumbing to Hillel nearly overwhelmed her concentration with sickening feelings that would have made her go mad. She blasted the thoughts aside, focusing on the matter at hand. If she hurried and saved them, she could go to the Tor and rescue the Aldermaston. She had no weapons, but she experienced the rush and thrill of the Medium, strengthening her. Crossing the center aisle, she reached the small antechamber at the side and hefted on the stone slab on the floor. It raised with ease, showing the hidden entrance to the tunnels beneath.

“Kieran Ven!” she said, turning suddenly and realizing that the last time she had seen him, he was unable to walk. There he was, striding boldly with Marciana still clutching his hand. “You lead them. There are lamps and flint to light them at the bottom of the shaft. They should be trim with oil. Take the tunnel on the right, it will lead you to the woods beyond the Abbey grounds. Go down, all of you!”

Marciana was very close to him, her hand did not leave his, as if he were a possession. Her hunter eyes had noticed it, but she could not remark on it yet. There was not time.

“How far to the woods?” he asked, his eyes wide with concern. “How deep the passage?”

“It is not far. A maston word will open the portal. You may have to dig your way out if the Dowager’s folk buried it.” Lia grabbed his shoulder. “Take them to Tintern if I do not come for you,” she whispered.

He looked at her in shock. “Tintern has already fallen, Lia. I tried to return there days ago but the portal was closed.”

She looked him hard in the eyes. “The Abbey may have fallen, but there is an Aldermaston there. I know he is there. He will direct you to the ships.”

Marciana grabbed Lia’s arm. “What will you do?”

“What I must. Go now, while you can.”

Kieran plunged into the tunnel shaft and helped Marciana come down after him. Lia felt the weight of the Abbey pressing on her. The fire pushed against her will, but she refused to let it win.
Not yet¸
she ordered.

There was Sowe next, followed by Edmon. They both turned and helped Pasqua down, and it took time for her to manage the ladder steps.

“I am hurrying, quit fussing down there,” Pasqua snapped. “I was once as skinny as you two and could handle ladders quite with ease.” Her eyes gleamed with gratitude and relief when she looked at Lia. “I knew you would save us, child. I never doubted it.”

One by one, Lia helped them down, holding back the flames with sheer will. Siler and the children clambered past. One after another. The flames burned even hotter, and she realized that another presence was commanding them to burn faster. She knew it was Pareigis.

“Hurry!” Lia warned. Reome was next, her eyes wide with wonder and gave Lia a grateful smile. One after another they went, Prestwich lingering in the back, insisting that others go first. He coughed violently against his arm, for the smoke seeped into the lower chambers. Another family from the village went down. So few, Lia realized. So few had believed.

At last it was just her and Prestwich. The weight of the Abbey strained against her. She could not bear it any longer.

“Go,” she said with a moan, beckoning for Prestwich.

He shook his head. “I will die here, Lia. This is where I want my bones to sleep. With my Aldermaston.”

Lia stared at him hard, exhausted by the strain of holding back the Leerings.

“Prestwich,” she said.

He shook his head. “I am done, child. This Abbey was my life. The ships are too far. I would never make it.”

Lia clenched her teeth, shuddering under the weight. “I cannot hold it back. Go down. You are needed, Prestwich. Your wisdom. Your experience. The little children need you. Someone to tell them stories. Of what it was like before the Blight.” She groaned. “Please, Prestwich!”

His face wrinkled with livid emotions. “They are killing my Aldermaston,” he said with grief. “I cannot…abandon him.”

She looked at him, a strangling feeling in her throat. “I know, Prestwich. I know. But
I
am your Aldermaston now,” she said. “Please, Prestwich. There is nothing you can do to serve him more. Help these children escape. Do it for me.”

The look he gave her was raw with suffering. He nodded and then ambled down the passageway. He paused on the rungs, looking up at her. “Come down with me, Lia.”

Her hold on the Leerings failed. She felt the blast of fire already sucking through the shafts as she slammed the stone lid down and whirled. The torrent of flames came jetting at her from all sides.

Lia walked through the shroud of flames as if they were a gentle breeze. She went back up the stairs as huge chunks of burning rock hurtled from the weakened beams. They exploded around her, sparks and whorls of flame. She walked without thinking, without wondering whether a stone would strike her. She had no fear. Somehow, it was lost during the hetaera test. Remembering the kystrel she had taken from the lair, she removed it from her tunic and tossed it into the flames, watching the metal turn bright orange before becoming a puddle of sizzling dross. In her mind, she saw the Abbey consumed, the Apse Veil vanishing in the conflagration. The Rood Screen turned to ash. The floor tiles were all cracked and black with soot, the pewter and silver vases and stands warped. Her soul grieved seeing the ravaged insides of her precious Abbey. For moments, she stared at the devastation, tears streaming down her cheeks only to hiss and vanish when they struck the floor. It was midnight, she realized. The darkest hour. And somehow, deep inside, she realized with shock and sadness that there were no Abbeys left in all the world.

She felt a presence and turned, startled, seeing the Aldermaston walking towards her.

He walked through the flames in his golden robes, approaching down the long aisle. She knew it was him, even through the billows of smoke and flame. Yet she felt his presence more strongly than what her eyes beheld. She squinted, not sure what she saw in the smoke.

“Aldermaston?” she breathed in surprise.

There he was, a wraith, a shadow that was visible one moment, vanished the next. A glimmer of his former self. But she recognized who it was, she recognized his presence. She felt him looking at her.

She reached out, but her hand passed through the haze and smoke, touching nothing. He was there, right beside her.

Aldermaston?
She thought the word.

Redeem the Abbey. You are the Aldermaston of Muirwood now.

It was as if he had spoken the thought aloud.

Her throat clenched shut with horror.
You are dead? I am too late?

Redeem the Abbey. Your posterity will build it anew.

She wondered how he was in front of her. When she had died, the part of her existence that remained had drifted towards the Apse Veil. But there were no Apse Veils left! With sickening realization, she understood what she had not even conceived of before. The Abbeys were the gateways back to Idumea. They were the gateways for the living and the dead. With no Abbeys left standing, the dead souls would be stranded, unable to return back to the city-gardens.

She saw his eyes, his angry, brooding eyes. He had known all along. Her father had told him, before she was even born, what would happen to him when the Blight came. That his Abbey would be the last to fall and that he would be tortured to death after its fall, unable to return back to Idumea.

Redeem the Abbey and build it again. Build them so the dead can be set free. You are our hope, child. You are our last hope.

He had always known, but the binding sigil prevented him from ever speaking it. He had known that his death would be followed by other deaths. Millions of deaths as the Blight swept across the land. Millions who would not be able to return to Idumea.